The Gypsy Girl
by XeroSanity
Summary: Thomas Shelby has finally been beaten. His family has turned against him. Mosley is a symptom of a greater threat soon to come, and his only salvation lies in the gun against his head. But just when Grace appears to him in spirit, encouraging him to end it all, another soul from the grave is given back to him. Can she save his soul? (Takes place after Season 5) Canon/OC character.
1. Author's Note

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Don't worry, for those of you following _A Mysterious Connection_ quite closely, I'm going to continue updating that as well. This is just a story I've had in my head for a very long time, and although the fanbase on isn't as big for _Peaky Blinders_, as other things like _Sherlock_ and _Star Wars_, I don't really care about recognition for this. I just wanted to write this story for enjoyment, and if it happens to get reviews that, of course, would be awesome, but it's not my reason for writing this.

Secondly and lastly, I chose the OC (original character) option because there is no option for the character I've chosen to given prominence to in this story. But make no mistake: this character _is_ canon. She is a confirmed character, she just hasn't been given any screen time, she's only been mentioned in conversation. But I thought it would be so interesting if she made a comeback, and how that would affect Thomas Shelby in particular. I'm calling this character a hybrid because a lot of how I'm fleshing her out is from my own mind but also, I can't take credit for her creation because she actually existed in the show (sort of).

Please enjoy,

Xero

P.S.: If you haven't watched Peaky Blinders, I highly recommend it, it's one of the best shows I've ever seen in my life (and that's saying something because I watch a LOT of TV). Also, this takes place at the very end of season 5, the most recent season of the series so if you're not fully caught up with the show this will contain spoilers for season 5. You have been warned.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The mist in the air was fresh, dewy and soft. The grounds around the Shelby Estate smelled of rain. The damp earth and moist blades of grass squished in the field under Thomas Shelby's feet. All he could see was Grace, his heart, wooing him towards death.

The ghosts he'd been hearing now for months, the inhale and exhale of death that had been breathing down his neck, were reaching a crescendo. The voices got louder and louder until he was sure they'd manifested themselves into the physical realm. He must have already died, for how else could he hear their souls breathing?

A black horse galloped through the fog, surely one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, for it was nigh.

Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders had finally met his match. And he wasn't even sure who it was. He just knew Mosley was a puppet in comparison. It was someone bigger. Nameless. Someone who would come for every man, woman, and child that called themselves Jewish or gypsy.

Fascism was a disease, spreading to every corner of Europe. He could feel it in his bones. Another war was coming. The entire world had been building up to it, and now it was only a matter of time before he was called again to serve.

But Thomas knew he wouldn't live through it this time. There were only so many times one could die, and he'd reached his limit.

She was there, gentle and open as she'd always been. "It's all done Tommy," her soft Irish accent cooed at him. "It's all done. We can walk away from all this."

Her voice was oxygen. It was a relief. It was everything he needed to hear. He'd needed her permission to end it all. And now he had it.

"It's so easy. So soft," she coaxed, and those simple words sealed his fate. "Such a small change."

Thomas Shelby, for the last time, was at the end of his rope.

He pressed the trigger on the gun, screaming for the end as the snow fell in his eyes.

The gun went off. His cry of pain echoed through the marshy fields and cut through the swirling fog like a knife.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see Grace standing before him with open arms, ready to lead him to the other side.

But some part of him knew he wasn't good enough to deserve that.

He dropped the gun, falling to his knees.

There was no blood dripping hot down his neck, or pain in his head, or any sensations he'd expected from offing himself.

But maybe that's how quick it had been.

Who knew death was going to be so painless?

But that's what she's said.

_So easy. So soft. Such a small change._

When his eyes finally focused, he didn't see his wife. Just the shadow of a black horse, disappearing into the mist.

And a maiden of shadow dismounting from the horse.

She was in a ripped black dress, barefoot, as she walked through the damp earth, one foot in front of the other with the grace of a goddess.

She walked as though she were weightless, her delicate wrists aloft in the air, her head tilted towards him curiously, the way a dog does when it comes across something curious.

She had hair as dark as freshly plowed earth that fell down her back in ringlets and waves, her skin was pale as moonlight and her eyes were a steely pale blue.

The eyes of a corpse. The color of death.

"Have you come to take me to hell?" Thomas asked. Still on his knees.

The girl held the reins of the black horse in her hand. It snuggled into her face, neighing softly. "I'm looking for someone." She had an accent he couldn't place. It was almost Londoner, but not quite.

His toes were numb from the cold. Surely he wouldn't feel the sting of frostbite if he were dead.

Thomas pressed a hand to his chest.

His heartbeat was erratic but it was still there.

He picked up the gun again and opened the chamber.

There were only three bullets inside. He hadn't shot himself with a full-chambered gun. The round that went off against his head had been a blank.

Which meant he was still alive.

He looked up at the woman, slowly coming back to a standing position.

He was a head taller than her, but regardless of this she held her head up high and she showed no hint of girlish shyness or demure.

So she wasn't the ingénue he'd thought she was. This girl looked liek she belonged out here, in the mist and fog, barefoot in the fields among black horses and mystery.

"Who are you looking for?" he asked her, starting to come back to his senses.

"My mother," she said. "I was taken from her when I was very young."

Once she'd said that, something clicked in Thomas' mind.

And then he saw it.

The same heart-shaped face, the same willowy frame that he'd seen dancing around fires for as long as he could remember.

Thomas saw it in every feature. The color of her hair, the sharpness in her eyes. Her high cheekbones that complimented her soft mouth, shaped in a permanent pout.

He knew this woman like he knew the lines in his hand.

He was looking at his Aunt Polly.

He gawked at her in shock and awe. "What's your name?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Anna," she said softly. "Anna Gray."

Author's note: Hey guys :D let me know what you think of the first chapter! And as always, I'm building a playlist ;D To be continued…


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Arthur Shelby gasped at the sound of a gun shot, coming from the distance.

And suddenly he knew what Thomas had done.

He kicked the car door in frustration and pain, falling to the ground on his knees, and sobbing.

Now he'd lost two brothers. One to the Italian mob, and the other by his own hand.

Arthur didn't know how long he'd stayed there on the ground, staring at his hands as hot tears fell into them. All he knew was he'd been there long enough for the falling snow to gather in inches in his hair and on the shoulders of his tweed coat.

He was the head of the family now. Or at least what was left of his family. Michael and Polly would take their opium and his American wife back to the states to start their own crime family. Even Finn might go. Maybe he should too. What if it really _was _the future of Shelby company limited? What if Michael was right, no matter how horrible it might seem?

His thoughts were brought to a halt at the sound of galloping horse hooves.

He wiped his eyes and immediately got to his feet, focusing his eyes.

From the fields, as the fog finally started to settle, he saw a black horse approaching.

At the reins was a girl…

And Thomas.

He was frozen where he stood.

The way the girl rode a horse, you'd think she'd been born on one.

The horse ran like a banshee flying out of hell, but stopped just as gracefully beside the car.

Thomas dismounted from the horse first, and as his feet landed on the ground, helped the woman down from the horse.

It was then Arthur noticed they'd both been riding bare-back.

She was a gypsy then. "Who the 'ell is this?" Arthur asked.

Thomas was leading her towards the house as she held his arm. "You're not going to believe me when I tell you," Thomas said simply. "Polly gave me a letter, resigning from the company this morning," Thomas said in a rush, something glistening in his eyes. "But none of that matters now."

Arthur blinked, his head spinning. "Tommy what are you talking about?"

To his brother's shock, Thomas smiled. A genuine, happy smile. "No one is going to America. We're not making opium our main source of income…no one is resigning from the company."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, noticing the woman's bare feet, black with earth.

Thomas chuckled softly. "Because Polly is led by her heart. And once she knows her daughter is alive, she won't be going anywhere."

The older brother heard Thomas' words, at first not understanding.

But then his eyes darting to the woman on his arm, looking at him with a quiet fondness.

"Look at 'er closely, Arthur," Thomas said. "If you_ really_ look at 'er…you'll see it too."

But Arthur refused. He shook his head. "Tommy…our cousin is dead."

But Thomas was ignoring him. "She's not going to believe me," Thomas said, "Or you. That'd why we need her to see it for herself. Give her a call, and tell her to meet us at the Lees' camp."

Arthur scoffed. "That's a ways, Tommy. Why can't we just meet her at the Garrison?"

Thomas shook his head. "Trust me, Arthur. Polly won't see it until she sees her in a gypsy camp."

"What you say is true," the woman said, still gently poised on Thomas' arm. "I _was_ dead."

Chills ran up Arthur's spine at the sound of her voice. "I've never 'eard your kind 'o accent before," he said.

She brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. "It's what people from Australia sound like."

Thomas nodded. "That's where Anna Gray was sent, when she was taken away from us."

Arthur took a step back. "Yeah, where she _died_ of Spring Fever and was buried six feet unduh in the _ground_."

Suddenly, the woman's eyes filled with something nameless, and empty. "Yes," she said darkly. "I was."

She spoke so plainly, so dead pan, it chilled him to the core.

Despite everything logical in him that told him otherwise, he felt it was true. This girl was Anna Gray.

And Anna Gray was back from the dead.

"You wanna take a walking corpse to a _gypsy camp_? Are you _mad,_ Tommy?!"

But Thomas wasn't having any arguments today. "Make the call, Arthur."

~.~


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The man named Thomas, her cousin, looked at her immediately and knew Anna Gray was telling the truth. But she was beginning to understand it wouldn't be so easy to convince the others.

She'd dreamed for years of the day she'd finally be reunited with her mother and brother again.

Before they were to ride for the Lee's camp, Thomas told her she was welcome to clean herself up in the bathroom.

She ran a bath of steaming water stepping side once it was full. Anna scrubbed herself down with rosewater soap and lavender oils until her skin was pink and the dirt had finally left her nails.

She'd found family, and they were kind. Arthur looked at her with scrutiny and mistrust, but he wasn't outright cruel. Thomas treated her like she was an angel made of glass; unspeakably fragile and just as elusive.

She wrapped herself in a light pink silk kimono and walked out into the hall, entering what appeared to be a bedroom. Anna sat herself at a vanity and brushed her hair, looking at herself in the mirror.

The woman was always startled to see her eyes again. All her life they'd been dark but after she'd dug herself from that earthy grave, her eyes were almost milky pale. And these eyes saw things her others hadn't.

She was startled when she looked in the mirror again and saw a man standing behind her.

She turned around and stood up nervously, clinging to the brush in her hand.

But it was only Thomas. He stood with his hands in his pockets, observing her. His face was expressionless. "It's been ages since someone's sat in that chair," he said.

Upon seeing his face, she remembered how it was she'd come across him.

In a field with a gun against his head. She had so many questions swirling in her mind.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he said. "I know you're who you say you are, but nonetheless, I have questions."

She stood rod straight, gazing at him firmly. "So do I."

"Why aren't you dead?" he asked.

"Why aren't you?" she asked back.

To her surprise, he smirked. "We're not going to talk about that," he said.

"You were trying to kill yourself," she said. "Like your mother did."

A silent fury stiffened his shoulders and tensed his jaw. "How the fuck would you know?" he asked bitingly.

She told the truth. "Because I've spoken to her," she said.

Thomas' eyes widened slightly, unsure how to respond except impulsively. "Where was she? Heaven, or hell?"

"Heaven," she said. "Aunt Martha was clever. When I died, she was the one who guided me to the other side."

~.~

Thomas couldn't believe it. Most naked women in nothing but a silk robe would be shying away from a conversation, trying to shoo him out the door, or…

Well, other events would ensue.

But she might as well have been in regular clothes. She was making direct eye contact with him, unfaltering and strong, as if she wasn't fazed in the slightest. She didn't seem to feel vulnerable around him at all.

Some part of him knew he should've felt daunted or challenged by that, but he didn't. He was proud.

How else would she have appeared, like a ghost from the past, but barefoot, riding bareback on a black stallion, her hair dancing with the wind?

Polly's daughter, through and through.

At the sound of his mother's name, his heart raced. "But she was a sinner and sinners go to 'ell."

"Not if you know the way," she said, shaking her head.

Thomas couldn't help it. He sat down on the bed, absorbed by her words. Thomas Shelby was nothing, if not superstitious. He believed every word she said. "How did you know where to go?" he asked.

"It's not like what the bible says," she began. "You don't just end up in Heaven or Hell, you have to travel there. When you die, there are miles and miles of endless dirt roads lined with fences. There's no signs, but before you turn onto a new road, there is an angel there, ready to give you directions."

"And my mother helped you," he said.

This was the first time he'd seen fear on her face. She looked him dead in the eye. "She told me to ignore anyone on the roads who spoke to me in a language that I understood."

Thomas' gaze was fixed on Anna. "Why?" he said in a low voice.

Goosebumps rose on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end at her words. "Because demons know Romani."


End file.
